Blind Horses
by pirate-of-hearts
Summary: Summary: In which Rumple is an eccentric fiction writer, and Belle is the up and coming young literary agent who seems to be the only one who knows hope to cope with him. Takes place in AU New York. Rated M for some language and smut in later chapters. Enjoy! ;)
1. Chapter 1: Meet Cute

Title: Blind Horses

**A/N: This title is based off of an old Scottish saying, "A nod's as guid as a wink tae a blind horse," which roughly translates to: 'If the horse is blind it doesn't matter whether you nod your head or wink your eye, he still won't see it'. This basically means that it doesn't matter whether you wink or nod or wave at a blind horse; you still won't get it's attention. For me this title is a metaphor for people who are ignorant in love, or who have a difficult time recognizing and understanding love when it's right in front of them. **

Chapter One: Meet Cute

Belle shifted her weight uncomfortably, looking up at the tall mansion and wishing for the thousandth time that the love of her life could have been something boring, like accounting. Accountants never ended up in these kinds of situations. Clearing her throat, she pressed the buzzer beside the door and waited. Just when she was beginning to wonder if the buzzer was actually working, there came the crackling response of the P.A. system, through which there came a thick, angry Scottish accent, _"Who is it? Awa' an bile yer heid!" _

Of all the authors that she could have landed for her first assignment with the agency, Belle had landed the most notoriously ill-tempered author to ever reach the _New York Times Bestseller List_. Bracing herself vigilantly, Belle forced herself to sound as cheerful as possible, "Mr. Gold? My name is Belle French; the agency scheduled our first appointment for this afternoon."

Silence for a full three minutes. Belle checked her watch and shuffled her feet again. And then, finally, there came that incessant crackling again: _"Come on through dearie; my secretary will greet you presently."_

The mechanical gate slowly opened then, and Belle hesitantly made her way across the cobblestone courtyard to the front door of the great house. It towered above her from across at least three centuries of workmanship, and she couldn't help but marvel at its structure. The front door swung open suddenly, and a young woman greeted her.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Gold's new editor, then?" The young woman said, her smile tense with stress and forced cheerfulness.

Belle did her best to hide her similar anxiousness, and stepped through the door quickly, dusting the snow from her coat.

"Belle," Belle nodded, shrugging out of her coat and passing it to the secretary. "His new literary agent, actually. And your name?"

"You can just call me Ashley," The young woman said, turning away to hang up Belle's coat. "He's been locked up in his study for the past three days; haven't seen him leave to eat. Usually means he's in the middle of one of his big projects."

"Yes, I'm here to discuss the upcoming book project that's due in next month, as per his contract with Random House," Belle nodded, following behind Ashley as the secretary lead her from the main foyer down the hallway to the sitting room. Belle's eyes couldn't help but wander across the rich carpets and drapes, and the gleaming, polished hardwood floors.

There was an undertone of sarcasm when Ashley replied, "Yeah? Well… good luck with that. I'll bring you some tea and banana bread; make yourself comfortable while you wait."

"Thank you," Belle nodded, settling back on the mauve velvet sofa. Her eyes followed the finely detailed portraits along the wall, past the large fireplace, and finally came to settle on a grandiose hardwood spiral staircase, leading to the second level, where she imagined Mr. Gold's study must be.

Ashley reappeared a few moments later, settling in one of the chairs across from Belle and placing the tea tray down on the coffee table between them. Glancing up at the staircase anxiously, she set about serving the tea and began nervously, "Random House… that's right, the one with that bitch for an editor."

Belle had to hide her smirk behind her teacup and nodded hesitantly, "Yes, that's the one. I've already had several rather intriguing discussions with her over the phone… it would seem that she's keen to get her hands on your employer's latest manuscript."

Ashley rolled her eyes, glancing toward the old fashioned rotary phone on the far left wall warily, "You have no idea how many times she calls this house in a day."

"Oh, I can believe you well enough," Belle nodded, taking another sip of her tea as she glanced in the general direction of the staircase again. "Should I…?"

Ashley shook her head dismissively, "He'll join us when he feels like it, if he joins us at all. Like I said, he's in one of his moods."

Belle frowned, glancing at her watch again. Already twenty minutes had passed. Just then, the sound of a cooking timer rang shrilly from the direction of the kitchen doorway. "Just a sec there, gotta run and get that second loaf out of the oven!"

Belle nodded passively, eyeing Ashley as she exited the room. As soon as she was sure that Ashley was safely distracted in the kitchen, Belle swiftly made her way to the staircase and took the stairs two at a time. As she had suspected, the staircase lead to a loft. The study was cluttered with papers and various office supplies and trinkets across every surface, nearly burying the weary-looking typewriter that slumped against the rich cherry wood writing table whereon it sat.

Glancing about the room for any sign of the author, Belle cautiously glanced over the typewriter, scanning its inserted page and relishing the deliciously concocted steam of words that had thus far graced its smooth surface.

There came a grunt of distaste from behind her, and Belle was so startled that her grip on the teacup in her hands faltered, and she dropped her full cup of tea to the floor by her feet. The steaming liquid splashed across her stalking feet and best pair of black heels, and the teacup itself landed against the hardwood floor with a sudden cry of breaking glass. Belle turned to see a pair of dark brown eyes boring into her own, accompanied by the most reprimanding grimace that she had ever seen. Belle had never met Adam Gold before, but his reputation preceded him, as did his trademark grimace from the few times she had seen his photograph online or in the tabloids.

"I… I am so, so sorry!" Belle stammered, bending to retrieve the teacup, "It's just a chip; I'll be more than happy to have it fixed, or perhaps pay for a replacement for you?"

"It's just a cup" Mr. Gold said offhandedly, his Scottish accent even thicker in person. He moved to sit on the chaise opposite his writing desk, eyes looking Belle up and down. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and glanced down at the floor self-consciously. Moving to sit at the less luxurious of the two chairs, Belle felt her tired back aching against the awkwardly carved wood of her chair. "Well. You're dreadfully young to be a literary agent. Are you quite sure that you're not just some intern who got lost on the way to the mailroom?"

Belle's blush deepened, and her mouth set into a straight line of determination. It was not the first time that someone had commented on her young age for such a high profile position, and while she was only entry-level, she was still much younger than most of the literary agents at her agency.

Seeing that she was not going to respond, Mr. Gold continued, "Let me guess; you're an Oxford graduate of English with a minor in Journalism and a Master's in Publishing."

"Ph D., actually," Belle sniffed, pulling her briefcase up into her lap defensively. "How did you guess?"

Mr. Gold smirked, eyeing her up and down again, "You've got Oxford written all over you."

Ashley chose this moment to tentatively enter the room.

"Mr. Gold?" She said, placing his afternoon tea and a stack of memo pages on his desk, "I'm heading out for the day; your phone messages are all here and accounted for.

"Mr. Gold nodded dismissively and waved her away, turning to flip through the memos Ashley had left him. Grimacing, he grunted. "Ugh, that witch. What in tarnation does she want?"

Belle quirked an eyebrow at him, reaching into her briefcase for Mr. Gold's client file folder. "If I had to guess, I'd say she wants the manuscript that you've promised her." Mr. Gold grunted again, turning his attention to the file folder as she unfolded it and began to spread some paperwork across his desk.

"Alright," Belle began, turning her attention back toward him, "Let's go through your contracts and accounts."

"Well, how was it?" Belle had never in her life been so thankful to hear her boss's gruff voice. "If he was rough with you, don't take it personally, sister. He's always been one of our toughest clients."

Belle leaned back on her sofa, swirling her Merlot around in its wine glass as she considered. Safe in the comforts of her small bachelor apartment, she was finally able to reflect on her first day working with Mr. Gold. "Honestly, he wasn't as bad as I thought he would be. He certainly doesn't live up to the same calibre of ferocity that his editor gave me when we first spoke."

Leroy puffed out a laugh, "Well, no surprise there. Someone slipped something in that woman's juice when she was in diapers. Or dropped her on her head."

Belle had to laugh at that. The publishing industry had hardened Leroy considerably; he was no longer the optimistic literary enthusiast who had travelled to New York in his teens with twenty dollars in his pocket and a crazy dream to be the next great North American novelist. He was a veteran literary agent now, with a passion for his work. And it was this mature and seasoned love for the written word that had guided Belle through her academic journey, from her first undergraduate internship to her first job in the field. Leroy saw something of his younger self in Belle, and had known for many years now that their shared passion was one and the same. "That's my girl. Don't let him scare you, sister."

Belle laughed, a bemused smile on her face as she glanced out to the street below. Bustling crowds were meandering through the gently falling snow, huddling in closer to one another to ward off the cold of the chilly winter's evening.

"Why does night always fall so fast in New York?" Belle mused aloud.

She didn't need to see Leroy to know that he was shrugging, "Us New Yorkers don't need daylight in a city that don't sleep." Sensing an undertone of longing in Belle's voice that he recognized from conversations that the two of them had shared in the past, Leroy ventured to ask, "Belle, are you sure that you made the right decision in coming here? I'd hate to think that I pressured you…"

"Don't talk nonsense, Leroy," Belle dismissed him quickly, although her longing as she watched the people below her interacting, being together, did not dissipate. "I don't have time to be lonely here."

"I can believe that, what with juggling Mr. Gold," Leroy said, "but I can't help but feel like I lead you away from England only to offer you a stressful job with not nearly enough benefits… And then there was the matter of your fiancé…"

Belle abruptly cut him off then, "It's okay, Leroy, really. You're worrying over nothing; Gaston and I were already over… very over. I Was in need of a change of scenery, and if there's one thing New York can offer, it's that."

Leroy nodded in understanding, glancing out his own window at the office. "Rest up, Belle."

"Night," Belle said, gently placing her phone back on its receiver. Curling her cold sock feet underneath her, she tugged her wool throw closer around her and flipped open the second in a tall stack of books beside her. She had read three of Mr. Gold's books in the past, but she would need to delve into his work if she was going to have a complete sense of him as a client. Taking another sip of her wine, she began.


	2. Chapter 2: The Rebirth of Chivalry

Chapter Two: The Rebirth of Chivalry

**A/N: Thank you to those who have read, reviewed and followed so far! This is my first rumbelle fanfic and any feedback would be great! I'm going to be going back and editing these chapters at a later date because I usually take several edits to squeeze out all the bugs. Thanks for reading, and if anyone is interested in being a beta reader be sure to PM me! This fic is going to be a long one, and my goal is to update at least once a week, carrying us through spring. Happy reading! **

There is no greater exhibition of the true character of human nature, Belle thought, than the line at Starbucks on a Wednesday morning, 8 a.m. sharp. Peering over the shoulders of the line in front of her, which was really more of a mosh pit pushing and shoving for dominance, Belle wondered how long it would take for society to crumble to ash if the world's coffee bean supply ever ran out.

Rubbing her bleary eyes again, Belle felt a yawn overtake her. She had been working with Mr. Gold for only three days, and in that time had managed to read the majority of his novels and even a few of his short stories. Some small and guilty part of her felt as though she had stepped back into her years as an undergraduate, staying up late to read reading assignments that had been given weeks in advance, only to attend seminars in which no one really wanted to engage with each other. Belle glanced at her watch – should she just forgo her coffee for this morning? – when all at once she felt a hand gently touch her shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss?" Came a warm voice. Belle looked up to see a handsome young man with gentle dark eyes looking down at her. She couldn't quite place it, but she knew that she had seen those same dark eyes somewhere else. "I'm going to try to push to the front here; let me get your order too."

_I think chivalry just came back from the dead_, Belle thought, and nodded. "Um, okay… thank you…?"

"Neal," the young man said, nodding up toward the menu display above the counter, "What can I get you…?"

"Belle," Belle smiled graciously, "Um, a salted caramel macchiato Grande, please. I'll pay you back once we get out of this crowd."

Neal flashed her a killer smile, "Nah, this one's on me."

Pushing his way up to the front, Neal leaned across the counter and nodded in the direction of a petite brunette barista, whose uniform could scarcely conceal a voluptuous bosom and whose deep red lipstick seemed to pop against her pale skin and large, dark eyes.

"What can I do yah for?" The barista said, leaning over the counter provocatively as she eyed Neal up and down appreciatively. Neal avoided her seductive gaze, "Just a Venti black for me, and a salted caramel macchiato Grande for the lady," he said, nodding back over his shoulder toward Belle.

The barista followed his gaze and gave Belle a sly wink, "Ain't she lucky," she smirked.

Once they were outside, Neal handed Belle her cup and smiled. Belle smiled back up at him and said, "Are you sure I can't pay you back? I'd still be standing there if you hadn't swooped in to save me."

Neal shrugged, "It was nothing… maybe we can do it again sometime?"

"I'd like that," Belle said, nodding back over her shoulder, "I'm already late for work… do you have a pen?"

Neal nodded, fishing around in his briefcase and then lifting a pen from its folds. Taking her coffee cup back into his hands, he quickly jotted down his number underneath the place where the barista had scrawled in black Sharpie, "Lucky Lady". Neal handed back the cup, and Belle blushed as her eyes scanned it.

"Well, I'm late for work too," Neal said, "Maybe I'll see you around sometime?"

"I'll call you," Belle nodded, turning to scan the street for sign of a taxi she could flag down. She turned back to say thank you again, but already Neal had faded back into the sea of people flowing down the sidewalk in the snow.

Belle should have known that her luck would not last. While chivalry had briefly ghosted back into her life, it was soon snuffed out like the fragile flame that it was, replaced instead by Mr. Gold's ill temper. She arrived to find a distressed Ashley cleaning in the kitchen.

"Where is Mr. Gold?"

Ashley turned abruptly, "How did you get in!?"

Belle shrugged, "The agency still had a house key. Where is Mr. Gold? I'm late… I thought he might be down here, waiting for me."

Ashley sighed, shaking her head in a little bewilderment. "You'll soon learn that Mr. Gold doesn't wait for anyone, because he doesn't go by the same clock. You'd think that the man were immortal or something!"

Belle rolled her eyes, turning to sit at the kitchen nook. Ashley came to join her, a cup of tea readily in hand. As Belle sipped at it and reached into her bag to fish out her file folder, her eyes happened to catch on some of the paperwork spread across the table.

"Divorce papers?" Belle wondered aloud.

"Quite the scandal," Ashley said, shaking her head sadly. "Such a shame… he was ill tempered before, but this whole divorce business has driven him into a kind of madness. I haven't seen him eat in days."

"What happened?" Belle said, her eyebrows knitting together.

Ashley shifted uncomfortably, "Well, you didn't hear it from me… His wife has been seeing another man for some time, and –"

"Another man? Well, that certainly explains the sunny disposition I've been seeing!"

"A much _younger_ man," Ashley continued. "She's been seeing him for quite some time, but she only just recently decided to divorce poor Mr. Gold because she's been ashamed to tell the son about it."

"Oh," Belle said, "That's… that's awful. Did he know?"

Ashley nodded, "They haven't really been married in practise for some time. She's never lived here, not so long as I've been Mr. Gold's secretary. I think he always secretly hoped that it would end between the two before it ever got to this… this legal business. The finality of divorce has really struck him."

Belle felt her heart ache a little for Mr. Gold, and she glanced up to look around the walls. No wonder there were no family pictures… Still, not even a divorce would stand up against his contract. Rising from her seat, Belle made her way up the stairs to the study door.

When there came no response to her knocking, she jiggled the door handle and found the door to be unlocked. Entering the study quietly, she came to stand above him. He was lying on his chaise, staring up at the ceiling blindly.

Seating herself at his desk, Belle began to sort through the scattered papers there. "Where is the manuscript, Mr. Gold?"

"In the manila envelope, by the lamp," Mr. Gold said, gesturing vaguely with his hand as he continued to stare up at the ceiling. Belle nodded slowly, having found the envelope, and quietly slid the pages from its hold. "Do you mind if I look it over here?"

Taking his grunt to be a sign of approval, Belle settled back in the uncomfortable wooden chair and began to read. As she shifted around in the chair, trying to get comfortable, she happened to glance in Mr. Gold's direction again. That was when she noticed the half-empty whiskey bottle on the floor beside the chaise, and the empty glass dangling from his hand over the side of that chaise. Mr. Gold's eyes squinted open as he felt her gaze on him, and he grimaced, dropping the glass to the floor.

"How many of those have you had today?" Belle said, eyeing the whiskey.

Mr. Gold let out a long-winded sigh and rolled onto his side, his dark eyes intent on Belle and fogged with drowsiness. "Come now, Belle… the drink is a comfort for fellows of the word." Pushing up from the chaise, he sat up and poured another glass of whiskey and held it out to her in offering, "Here; it will soften the blow of that terrible draft."

Belle wrinkled her nose and lifted her tea cup to her lips again, "Oh, um, no thank you… I don't drink anymore."

"Ah, what a shame…" Mr. Gold said, knocking back the whiskey, "from the way you were eyeing my liquor, I thought we'd finally found something in common." In that moment, a bolt of electricity charged through them as their eyes met. Belle blushed under the heat of his stare, and her eyes flickered down to his manuscript again.

"What are you looking at?" Belle said, her voice quivering.

"You, dearie," Mr. Gold said, settling back into the chaise. "Just drinking in the view while it lasts."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Mr. Gold sighed, "My family has left, as has every other agent. Why should you be any different?"

His words felt like a cold splash of water in Belle's face. Who did she think she was? If seasoned literary agents hadn't been able to handle this bastard, why should she be any different indeed? Jumping to her feet, Belle clutched the manuscript to her chest and quickly left the room, feeling his heated gaze on her back as she fled.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out!" Mr. Gold's sharp and angry words followed her. After she had gone, he turned his gaze back to the ceiling. He highly doubted that he would ever be seeing that pretty little face again, and some small part of him almost regretted this. But then he was lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips, forcing himself into the comforting state of numbness once again.

Several hours later, Leroy got the call. Before he even had a chance to speak, Belle's anxious voice was jolting him into panic mode. "Slow down, sister. Where's the fire?"

"It's his manuscript, Leroy! It's… it's not ready to be shown to an editor! His wife and his son and now this manuscript has gone to shit… It's so rough, whole connecting passages have been summarized in point form plot notes! This can't be the same guy whose books I've been reading, I – "

"Whoa there, Belle!" Leroy interjected, trying his best to convince himself that he could still pretend to be composed. "You're not there as his therapist, you're there as his agent! Do you have the manuscript?"

"Well, yes…" Belle reluctantly admitted, "But-!"

"Easy!" Leroy continued soothingly, "The great American novel wasn't born overnight, Belle. Do you remember what I told you when you came to intern here again last summer?"

Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, Belle responded, "Diamonds aren't given, they're harvested and polished."

"Exactly," Leroy nodded slowly, "What Mr. Gold has dumped in your lap, sister, is a lump of coal. Now all you've gotta do is take a pickaxe to that thing, find the gems, cut and polish them."

Belle nodded slowly, "But _I'm_ not the writer!"

"So _coax_ him, Belle," Leroy said warily, massaging his temples in exhaustion. There was silence on Belle's end of the line, and all at once Leroy's voice took on a new tone. "Wait a minute…This isn't about the manuscript, is it?"

Silence.

"Are you backing out on me, sister? Don't you dare back out on this client; I've lost too many agents to him already!"

"He…"

"What!? He _what_, Belle!?"

"He looked at me… I mean, he was drunk and everything, and it didn't mean anything, but Leroy, the way that he looked at me!"

Leroy took a steadying breath, then said, "Now you listen to me, sister. You do _not_ throw this opportunity away. You drag him out of his drunken cell and you polish that manuscript for his editor. You can_not_ afford to be distracted by wandering eyes right now! Now take a deep breath."

Belle followed his instructions, inhaling deeply. "Okay."

Regina tapped her long, manicured red nails against the surface of her glass top desk impatiently. "What do you mean, '_he's indisposed'?_ That bastard owes me a manuscript, and I intend to get it! Now you tell that feral imp that if he doesn't turn in that damned manuscript by Monday morning, he'll never publish so much as a grocery slip in this city ever again! And next time he avoids talking to me on the phone, I'll drive to that damned mansion of his, and then you know what I'm going to do? I'll light it on fire and burn his precious hideout to the ground, that's what I'll do! It'll be ashes, you hear me? Now get me that damned manuscript!"

The dial tone suddenly cut in, heavy and flat, indicating that the aggravated editor had finally hung up. With a weary sigh, Belle flipped her cell phone shut and pressed the power button until the phone clicked off. There, one less stress factor for the time being. Then she tucked it down inside her briefcase and turned back to the task at hand. Raising up onto her tiptoes, Belle knocked on the door to Mr. Gold's study again, more firmly this time.

"What the hell are you still doing here? I thought you would have been long gone by now, dearie," Came Mr. Gold's tauntingly drunk voice from the other side of the door. She could just see it in her mind's eye; him lying on his chaise, papers scattered across every surface, staring off into nothingness.

"You're not that lucky," Belle spat. Jiggling the door handle violently, Belle realized in frustration that Mr. Gold had locked the door behind her when she had left his study earlier that morning.

"You have your bloody manuscript, now leave me be!"

"So help me Mr. Gold, if you don't let me in _right now_, I am going to take this door off its hinges!" Belle called back through the door, her voice beginning to rise angrily. Belle waited several minutes longer, then turned on her heel and quickly made her way down to the kitchen.

"Ashley," she said, already setting to work searching the kitchen cupboards, "Where does Mr. Gold keep his screwdrivers?"

A few minutes later, Belle was marching back up the stairs, the gardener's tool box in hand. "Can't believe he doesn't even have his own tool box…" She was muttering, shaking the snow from the walk to the garden shed out back out of her hair. Dropping the toolbox at the foot of the door, Belle set to work taking out the screwdrivers holding the study door's hinges in place. One by one the hinges popped out of place, until at last the door was free.

"Ashley!" Belle called. Ashley took the stairs two at a time, and was soon standing at the door beside Belle, who nodded toward the door that she was steadying with both hands. "Help me with this, would you?"

Ashley nodded, and together they each took an end and began carrying the door downstairs. They were halfway down the staircase when a dishevelled Mr. Gold appeared in the doorway, disoriented from his dozing on the chaise, but indignant just the same.

"What the hell are you doing with my door!?"


	3. Chapter 3: The Doorman and the Date

Chapter Three: The Doorman and the Date

**A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks so much for the attention that you've given this fic so far; I really appreciate all the encouragement and kind words! Sorry that it took me so long to get this chapter up; it's been a hectic couple of days! I've decided to try writing these chapters in smaller portions, but to update very frequently in smaller chapters so that you guys don't have to wait as long for updates. Please let me know how you guys feel about this structure, and let me know if your personal preferences are different. Also, I know that there isn't very much Mr. Gold in this chapter, but fear not! The next chapter is completely Gold-oriented. ;) Have a great night, and enjoy the read! **

Leroy's thundering laughter filled his small but cozy office, "You took away his door!? What did he DO?"

Belle was laughing as well despite herself, and she leaned back in her chair, perfectly at ease now that this was just another funny story. "Oh, he threw quite the tantrum. I never knew that canes could be such effective weapons! But it was fine… I simply told him that he can have his door back once he's established a more open system of communication with me!"

Taking deep breaths as he tried to calm himself down, Leroy reached for his mug and took a long drag of his coffee, shaking his head in disbelief. Belle liked these easygoing afternoons in Leroy's office, when he shared his smiles that always reminded her that he had been young and optimistic once, too. These were the afternoons that had made Belle feel at home at Storybrooke Literary Agency, when she had nowhere left that felt like home. It was one of the reasons that she had left London; why she probably would have left anyways, even if things had unfolded differently between her and Gaston.

A knocking at the door startled both of them from their laughter and thoughts, as the clip-clip-clip of industrious heels clapped against the polished hardwood floors of Leroy's office. Regina was donned in her usual designer chic clothes, including the heels that no person in their right mind would wear as a street shoe when walking the streets of Manhattan. Her mouth twisted in a disapproving scowl as she took in the scene of Belle and Leroy, completely at ease and enjoying their afternoon coffee.

"I have just finished reading through Mr. Gold's manuscript," Regina announced.

Belle winced. She had not met Regina in person before, but her voice was difficult to wipe from memory after it had been used as a method of torture via the telephone every day for a week.

"And?" Leroy said, his usual gruff tone settling back into his voice.

"Who is she?" Regina said, nodding in the direction of Belle.

"I'm-" Belle began, but before she could continue, Regina interrupted.

"Wait, I know you. You're that prissy little up and coming agent I've been talking to this week."

"Um, yes?" Belle said, unsure of how to answer that.

"Ugh," Regina rolled her eyes then, "I hate having to teach the young ones to mind their place."

Tossing the manuscript down on Leroy's desk, Regina turned on her heel and showed herself out, calling over her shoulder, "I want the next draft, adhering to my notes, in my mailbox by the first Tuesday next month."

With that, she was gone.

Silence settled over Leroy's office, which was devoid now of the warmth and mirth that had shone from within it only a few short minutes ago.

"Really knows how to kill the mood, that witch," Said Leroy, pushing back from his desk to rise and stretch. Skimming through the manuscript, he grunted. "Well, these notes are ideal, assuming that your Mr. Gold wants to write himself a whole new novel, lacking any resemblance to the manuscript on this desk."

Belle rolled her eyes, reaching to take a long sip of her own coffee. "Don't you worry, Leroy. I can handle her."

"It's not you that I'm worried about, sister," Leroy said, his eyes still locked on the door to his office, as the clip-clip-clip of Regina's heels echoed back behind her. "That author of yours has another thing coming."

Belle sighed, stretching her aching back muscles. Gathering up her things, she glanced back at Leroy over her shoulder and said, "I should get going…"

Leroy glanced at the clock, then back to Belle. "That's early, even for you, sister. Got a hot date or something?"

Belle flashed him a wicked smile, and Leroy shot her a knowing look. "You behave yourself; don't go breaking any hearts tonight!"

Belle rolled her eyes, "I'll try."

Once outside in the chilly winter evening, Belle pulled her wool scarf close around her ears and quickened her pace down the glimmering sidewalks, sparkling in the streetlights that had begun to illuminate the dimming streets.

She stopped by her apartment to change first. It had been a long time since Belle had gone out on a first date… she and Gaston had dated for three years before their engagement, and that hiatus of an engagement had lasted another year before… well, she didn't want to think about that.

Her doorman smiled and waved her through. David was a charming doorman, and he had been very helpful when she had first moved into her new apartment, even offering to carry some of her larger parcels for her. She had to wonder sometimes how he had wound-up serving as a doorman when he had the charisma of a CEO, but she had often seen him interacting with the different people passing through. She figured he must just really be passionate about people.

As he was holding the door open, Belle turned to him and said, "When a man named Neal drops by in a bit, can you tell him to wait here with you while I'm getting ready? I don't want him to feel like he has to wait outside, and I know how good you are with people…"

David gave Belle one of his killer smiles and nodded, "You got it, ma'am. Now go get pretty."

Belle rolled her eyes as she walked away, wondering how anyone could take him seriously. Once she was up to her apartment, Belle shed her clothes and turned on her shower. As steam began to waft up toward the ceiling, she replayed the events of the morning over in her head. It had been several days since she and Mr. Gold had finally submitted the first draft of his new novel to Regina, and this morning had been the first time they had seen each other since.

Belle stepped into the shower, and began to lather herself as she continued to remember the way Mr. Gold's eyes had lit up when he'd seen her, and the way that he had tried to mask his surprise and pleasure at seeing her as quickly as he had shown it. They had sat down for tea together, something Belle had told him that she wanted to establish into a routine each morning in order to better open up the lines of communication between them.

It had begun a little awkwardly, as he wasn't accustomed to regular visitors, apart from Ashley. They'd discussed the book mostly, and the inspiration behind it. They also spoke about an awards night that was fast approaching, The Gellar List Night. Mr. Gold's most recent novel had been nominated for the Gellar, and Belle was trying to convince him to attend the awards ceremony.

"I don't see what all the big fuss is about dearie," Mr. Gold had said, glaring down at his tea as though it was mocking him. "I dislike those crass gentlemen of the new generation who fancy themselves artists. And I'd have to pretend to be nice to everyone!"

Belle chuckled now, remembering the indignant way he'd defended himself. Poor Mr. Gold. Stepping out of the shower, Belle wrapped a towel around herself and shook the residual water droplets from her hair. Wrapping her hair in a separate towel, she began applying her makeup for the evening out that was to come.

Smearing lip gloss across her lips, she tried to shake Mr. Gold from her thoughts. She was about to be going on a date, for goodness sakes! She needed to stop focusing so much on her work! Shimmying into a black dress that reached just down to her mid thighs, she admired herself in the full length mirror.

"I am ready for this," She said, trying to convince herself more than the pale young woman staring back at her.

When she arrived back down at the lobby of her building, Belle found the two men talking as though they were old college roommates… just as she'd suspected.

"Hello, gentlemen," She said, stepping through the door that David held open for her. Turning to him, she smiled and said, "Thank you for keeping him company, David."

"No problem!" David said, turning to wink at Neal, "We had ourselves a few laughs."

Neal sighed, a wide smile reaching across his open face. "You look gorgeous, Belle."

Belle blushed a little, then nodded in the direction of the door, "We're going to miss our reservation…"

"Right," Neal said, opening the door to the outside for her. Over her shoulder, he looked at David again and said, "Thanks, David. See you around sometime hopefully."

Belle gave him a pointed smile as she passed through the door, "Well, we'll see how tonight goes before you get too chummy with my doorman."

Neal rolled his eyes at David, then followed Belle outside. As Belle settled into the passenger seat of Neal's car, Neal reached into the backseat. Lifting a bouquet of blue roses, he set them on the dashboard in front of Belle. "For you, m'lady."

Belle's eyes widened and she grinned. "How did you know that roses are my favourite?"

Neal laughed, "My Dad never really got too far with the ladies, but if there's one good thing he did pass on to me, it's an appreciation for the bond between women and their flowers."

Belle smiled, lifting the roses to her nose and inhaling deeply. Gaston had never brought her flowers… He had tried to once, but he hadn't been able to keep them alive long enough to get them to her, and by the time they'd arrived at the restaurant the roses were already dead. They'd been yellow roses, too… Belle wasn't very sad when they died, and Gaston never tried to give her flowers again.

"So, where are we going for dinner?" Belle said, and despite the darkness in the car, she could have sworn that Neal began to blush.

"Umm, you might think that it's kind of lame…"

Belle laughed, "Wherever it is, I'm sure that it'll be nice."

Belle almost laughed when they pulled up in front of the large, limestone building that was probably the most grandiose Starbucks she had ever seen. Almost. But then she saw how nervous Neal looked, and thought better of it.

"I thought at the time that it would be… I dunno, romantic?" Shrugging out of his seatbelt, Neal made his way around to the other side of the car and opened the door to Belle. The night was crisp, and the untouched snow glimmered in the warm, orange light that fell from the windows of the café. As they stepped inside, a smooth bar of jazz music greeted them.

"Well, if it isn't lady luck," A familiar voice sounded from the other side of the counter. It was the barista from the day they had first met, her red lipstick as bright as ever.

Neal greeted her with an open smile, "Hey there, Red. We'll take our usual."

Belle's eyes widened, "How many Starbucks locations do you work at?"

The barista shrugged, "My grandmother is one of those new-age, hip grandmas. She's the district manager, so she gets me in for as many shifts as possible." Handing them their drinks, she sent them a wink, "Have fun, lovebirds."

Belle and Neal sat at one of the tables of the café on the second level, looking down on the street. As they sat and talked, Belle tried to engage and keep up with the conversation. But she couldn't help but feel like she'd done all of this before. Pursing her lips, she tried to smile as she thought to herself, _Why do I always end up feeling this way when I'm out with a nice, friendly guy? What's wrong with me? If this isn't what I want, then what am I looking for?_

It wasn't long until Neal realized that Belle looked… well, for lack of a better word, she looked bored. "Everything okay?"

_Shit_, Belle thought, _am I that obvious? Poor guy…_

"Oh, it's nothing," Belle said, forcing a smile. _What can I say?_ _I'm sorry, it's just that I've dated you before. Several times. I've even been engaged to you. I just don't think this is going to…_ "Work! I was just caught up in a thought about work… don't mind me. You were saying?"

"Oh, I was saying that I need a date for this dinner thing coming up… The Gellar Awards? And since you mentioned that you work in publishing, I figured that you might have to go as well, and I thought it would be a little less boring if we could at least go together!"

Books! Books Belle could talk about. She turned to him, finally feeling as though she could engage,"That would be nice! Who are you attending for?"

"My Dad," said Neal, his eyes concealing a hint of sadness, "He's been going through a rough time lately, and I figure this way I can make sure that he goes. It's a work-related thing for him… and he could really use the support."

"Well, I'd love to!" Belle said, her smile brightening as she thought about how considerate Neal seemed to be. Maybe she should give him more time… and try not to be bored right away. "I mean, I'll need to focus on my own work for some of the night, especially my one client… that author I've been working with? – but then I'll be all yours."

"Sounds like a date," Neal said, raising his coffee cup to hers, "Cheers."


	4. Chapter 4: Why We Call Him Rumple

Chapter Four: Why We Call Him Rumple

**A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for all of the questions/reviews/messages/favs/follows! I'm so happy to hear that you guys are liking the story so far! The next few chapters have been really fun to write, and I hope that you enjoy reading them as much as I've enjoyed writing them! **

The only sound was the ticking of the mantle clock as Belle and Mr. Gold watched each other over the rims of their teacups. They had been sitting like this for more than forty-five minutes. They had been doing this same tired routine every day for two weeks now. Every morning, Belle woke at 6:45 to walk to the Starbucks at the corner of her neighbourhood. Then she took a cab to Mr. Gold's residence, where they typically spent an hour or two each morning drinking tea and going through their strategy for revising the manuscript for that day.

They also frequently discussed his other contracts and paperwork to be attended to, including the ever looming Gellar Awards Night. Belle hadn't mentioned that she had a date – were you even supposed to discuss those things with clients? – but she knew that Leroy had reserved a table for them on the grounds in front of the stage, so they would be within easy walking distance in case Mr. Gold was called up. However, there were usually only so many topics that could be exhausted before they would fall into the inevitable silence that blanketed the sitting room.

"Not that I'm complaining, dearie," Mr. Gold said, leaning forward to pour them both a third cup of tea, "But don't you have anything more exciting to do with your mornings than sitting here looking at me?"

"Guess not," Belle said, propping her feet up on his mahogany coffee table. Mr. Gold frowned in distaste, but secretly he was masking the smile that was fighting to break loose. He wasn't sure why Belle's antics made him smile and laugh so often despite himself… She was without question the most uncouth person that had ever set foot in his home. Mr. Gold was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the buzzer ringing until Belle leaned forward to gently touch the hand that clasped his cane. "Mr. Gold? Your doorbell is ringing…"

Mr. Gold's eyes widened as he realized Belle's close proximity, and with a small gasped he leaned backwards in his chair. When he realized his actions and saw Belle's confusion, he sighed and made to stand up, "Apologies, Belle. Was lost in my head for a moment. Don't worry, it's gone now."

Moving to the phone, he clicked it off and then moved back to the coffee table, where he began to clear the dishes. From her place on the sofa, Belle watched him. "Who is it? I didn't know you had visitors."

Mr. Gold rolled his eyes and replied dryly, "Well dearie, contrary to popular belief, I do have some semblance of a family remaining." Seeing that he was having difficulties between balancing the dishes with one hand and propping himself up with his cane by the other, Belle moved forward and whisked the tray from his hands.

"You answer the door," She said, nodding in the direction of the front foyer, "I'll take care of these."

Mr. Gold looked as though he were about to protest, but then he smiled meekly and turned to the front foyer. Over his shoulder he said quietly, "Thank you, Belle."

Belle was already in the kitchen, and didn't hear.

Once she had finished in the kitchen, Belle made her way back to the sitting room. To say she was surprised by what she saw there would be an understatement. Belle had never seen Mr. Gold interact with anyone, aside from Ashley and herself. She had seen him answer one of Regina's phone calls once, and that had ended with the phone flying out the window.

(And then landing in the fountain. Poor Ashley had to wad in after it, and then call in a specialist to repair the battered old rotary phone.)

So the last thing that Belle could ever have expected to see was Mr. Gold hosting a _child _– a child! – and speaking to him with such warmth. Belle stood in the doorway with her jaw unhinged, watching as the two sat close together on the sofa, a large, leather-bound journal spread across their laps. They were studying it intently.

At the other side of the room, sitting on the piano bench was a lovely young woman, looking to be only a couple years older than Belle. She had a kind of vintage charm to her, and she reminded Belle of Audrey Hepburn. Retreating back into the kitchen, Belle quickly set about making a second pot of tea, then gathered four cups together.

She was just setting the entire ensemble up on a tray when Mr. Gold entered the room, his face brighter than Belle had ever seen it before. "Belle! Come and meet my grandson."

His eyes caught on the tea tray then, and he quickly crossed the kitchen and began rummaging through the pantry. After a moment or two, he triumphantly withdrew a canister from the pantry and set it on the counter. As he began the task of filling a saucepan with milk, he glanced over his shoulder to where Belle stood watching him.

"Thank you for the thought," He said, nodding in the direction of the tea tray. "I hope that you'll stay to meet them! I just need to whip-up a hot chocolate for Henry first… He has a very particular way that he likes them."

"Henry… You, you have a grandson?" Belle repeated, sounding more surprised than she had meant to.

Mr. Gold glanced back over his shoulder again to look at her, his eyebrows raised, "And what is so surprising about that, dearie? Were you beginning to think that I didn't have any family left?"

Belle felt the heat rising to her face, and she looked down at the ground bashfully, "No, no… no at all. I just… I didn't think that you were old enough to be a grandfather."

Chancing a glance back up, Belle's eyes caught with Mr. Gold's. His eyes were a deep, deep brown; the kind you could drown in if you didn't keep yourself guarded. And caught by surprise as he was now, his shirt all rumpled and his long brown hair in his eyes, Belle couldn't help but wonder what he might have looked like when he was younger.

Mr. Gold's face relaxed a little, and he allowed for a small smile to pass through unguarded, "I'll take that as a compliment, Belle. Thank you."

Belle exchanged a smile with him, then watched as a cloud passed over his face. "What is it?"

"Milah and I…" Mr. Gold glanced over to the dining room wall, where a wedding photo was hung, "we married so young. She was pregnant before we ever really got to know one another… Our son grew up so fast, and once he was gone from our lives… it was as though the last thing holding us together finally faded away."

Belle thought about her own reservations about her previous engagement to Gaston. Hearing Mr. Gold now, she wondered if she had in fact been the wiser to cut her losses and change her mind. Noticing a burning smell, she realized that they had both forgotten the milk on the stove too long. Quickly removing the saucepan from the burner, she poured it into one of the four teacups on the tray she had prepared. Hesitantly, she asked, "If you could go back, would you still marry her?"

Mr. Gold moved to the fridge and removed a contained of whipped cream. Scooping out two spoonfuls onto the top of the hot chocolate, he turned back to the fridge to put the whipped cream back. Coming to stand beside Belle, his gaze fell upon the cup of hot chocolate. Reaching up to his spice rack, he took hold of the bottle of cinnamon and sprinkled a little of the dusty substance over the whipped cream as he said, "You know Belle, I wouldn't change a thing. That boy is the single most important part of my life now."

"Cinnamon?" Belle inquired, placing the teacup back onto the tray.

Mr. Gold smiled then; a quiet smile that almost reached those deep, sad eyes. "He's a special boy."

Making their way back into the sitting room, Belle set the tea tray down on the coffee table. The boy, Henry, was perched on the sofa with his notebook tightly clasped in his lap, and he was writing in it rigorously with a pen. But when Mr. Gold cleared his throat, Henry paused in his writing to peer up at Belle with a smile.

"Hey," he said, his eyes trailing between Belle and his grandfather, "You're the pretty literary agent that Rumple keeps talking about, aren't you?"

Belle tried to stop herself from laughing, clasping a palm over her lips, but it was no use, "R-r-rumple!?" Turning to Mr. Gold, she felt her lungs squeezing tight. She couldn't help herself! "T-they call you RUMPLE!?"

Mr. Gold's cheeks were beginning to heat, and he moved to look out the large bay window without speaking. From the way that his shoulders were all tensed up, this bothered him a lot more than his cool demeanor would care to admit. With an almost wounded voice, Mr. Gold responded, "He says that it's because of my slightly rumpled appearance."

"Yup," Henry said, "See how his hair always looks like fairies are nesting in it?"

"So this is what I get for working so hard to make your cocoa just the way you like it." Mr. Gold retorted, his back still turned.

"It's hot chocolate," Henry shot back, taking a long slurp, "And I can tell that you burned the milk; don't get so defensive!"

Belle watched Mr. Gold's tense back and smirked. It was true; despite his best efforts, taking the form of tailored suits and shining shoes, the eccentric author did have a slightly rumpled aura about him. _It's almost cute, in an endearing kind of way_. Belle caught herself the, and with a blush, she called across to the young woman sitting at the piano. "There's tea here, if you like."

The woman turned to her with a smile, and made her way over to the tea tray, "Thank you, Belle. Mr. Gold has told me so much about you."

Mr. Gold's back seemed to tense even more upon hearing this. Belle could almost see a little storm cloud gathering over his head.

"I'm Mary Margaret," The young woman said, calling Belle's attention back to her, "Henry's English teacher. We make these visits once or twice a week, so that Henry's grandfather can coach him in his creative writing projects."

"Oh," Belle said, pouring herself another cup of tea, "I didn't realize that… That's really nice, actually."

"It's completely selfish, I assure you," Mr. Gold said, coming to sit beside Henry again. If he had been blushing, any trace of heat had finally left him in peace. Wrapping an arm around Henry's shoulders, he smiled down at him, "This one writes more complex work than I ever attempted at his age."

Henry beamed back up at his grandfather, and in that moment Belle couldn't help but wonder how a man who was so naturally nurturing towards his grandson could ever have been so far separated from his wife and son. She could feel a warmth when watching Mr. Gold with Henry… his tenderness was something she had never seen in a man before, and had rarely glimpsed with anyone else. What surprised her most was the person that it came from… she would not have guessed that Mr. Gold could be capable of such tenderness, had she not first seen it for herself.

Belle stayed for most of the afternoon, making every excuse that she could to stay longer, she sat in the sitting room and pretended to reread the third quarter of the manuscript, watching over the stack of paper as Mr. Gold spoke at length with his grandson about one of Henry's latest writing assignments, and about junior writing contests in the region that he ought to consider submitting the story to.

When Henry and Mary Margaret had finally gone, the sun was already setting over the trees. Belle shrugged into her long blue overcoat and peered into the sitting room, where Mr. Gold was gathering up the tea tray a second time. Smiling to herself, Belle came into the room and lifted the tea tray for him, carrying it into the kitchen. Mr. Gold hid his smile as he watched her, the setting sun through the bay window settling into a sleepy golden halo around her hair and face. "Thank you, Belle."

"Don't you start making a habit of this," Belle said in a mock scolding tone, "I wouldn't want you thinking that I'm your maid or something."

Mr. Gold laughed a little, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it."

Belle re-emerged in the doorway to the sitting room, her face fresh and relaxed. Standing there now, looking at each other, Belle realized that this was the most at-ease that they had ever been with each other.

Mr. Gold seemed to realize this too, as he hesitantly added, "I'm not unhappy, Miss French, that you don't have anything better to do with your mornings than drink tea with me."

Belle's smile widened, "I'm glad, too." As she turned and opened the door to let herself out, she added, "Keep this up, and you may even get your door back!"

With a laugh, she closed the door behind her and was gone. Mr. Gold watched from the bay window as her back retreated into the oncoming evening, and for the first tie he wondered how she got home, and whether it was a long, cold walk for her. Walking back into the kitchen, he stood in front of the china cabinet and scanned his tea set, until his eyes finally came to rest on the chipped teacup that Belle had dropped on her first visit. Sliding the glass door of the china cabinet open, Mr. Gold carefully removed the teacup from its hiding place. He then walked into the dining room, to the cabinet along the wall below where his wedding picture hung. Placing the cup on the cabinet, he stepped back to admire its new resting place, among some of his favourite framed photographs of his son and grandson. There were no recent photographs of his son, he realized. He would have to ask him for a more recent photograph the next time he saw him. When was that…? Right, that dreadful Gellar Award Night debacle…

All at once, Mr. Gold was looking at the chipped tea cup and thinking about the Gellar Award Night when it hit him… Perhaps the awards night didn't have to be quite so horrible! After all, what would be the harm in asking his literary agent to attend with him? Of course he would be seeing her there, but to actually go out to dinner first, and to arrive together… That would surely make for a more enjoyable evening! Mr. Gold sat down at the dining table, continuing to watch the chipped teacup as his chin came to rest on his palm. She needn't call it a date if that made her uncomfortable… he could just say that he wanted to – what did she call it? – establish a broader communication between them, or something like that.

Mr. Gold was not sure of many things these days, but what he did know was that Belle French was helping him to write again and, more than that, to smile. But now that he had decided to ask her to the awards night with him, there came the difficult part… Now he actually had to ask her. Mr. Gold frowned. He had never been very brave when it came to women.


	5. Chapter 5: Reservations for Five

Chapter Five: Reservations for Five

**A/N: Shout out to all the awesome readers who have reviewed so far, and special shout out to the readers who have been messaging me! Jamie, this opening scene is for you; sorry that you had to wait so long for it! This sub-plot will continue to develop throughout the fic. And RumbelleLoveIsHope, thanks for the idea! I spent the day on this chapter to try and make it a little longer for you guys. Happy reading! :)**

Emma paced the small hotel room restlessly, her eyes flitting to the hotel window that looked out to the middle of another concrete wall. If there was one thing she disliked more than being away from her son, it was being in a crappy hotel room away from her son. Trying to make her voice as cheerful as possible, she flopped back on the bed and replied "Oh, yeah? And what's she like?"

"She seems pretty cool," Henry said, "She helped Rumple to make my hot chocolate, and she seems like she has pretty decent taste in books. I think Rumple has a crush on her."

Emma smiled, checking her watch. She had fifteen minutes until the press conference. Emma had begun her career as an undercover reporter for when she was fresh out of college, and as much as she loved her son, she was an incurable adventure seeker with a knack for getting down to the gritty details when it came to shady corporations. These daily good morning phone calls were a pillar that kept both her and Henry sane, and she was grateful that her employers covered the long distance cell phone bill.

"Hey kid, I'm really sorry, but I gotta get back to work soon… mind if I talk to your father for a sec?"

Henry tried to hide the hurt in his voice, and the fact that he tried to hide it made it feel even worse when Emma heard it there. "Kay, talk to you soon mom. Stay safe."

"I will. I love you, kid."

"Love you too."

There was a shuffling sound in the background, and then Neal's voice came through on the other end. "He really misses you, you know."

"I know," Emma said, sighing and clenching her eyes shut. "I know, Neal. But this is a really important case, and – "

"I don't want to hear it," Neal said, "I've had my fill of mothers trying to explain themselves right now… Just don't do something stupid and wind-up in a foreign prison somewhere. I've heard the horror stories."

Emma laughed, "You're so overprotective. Speaking of which, how's your dad? Any better?"

"Well, he won an award. The Gellar. I was thinking of bringing Henry to the ceremony so that the family would be there when – "Catching himself, Neal paused. Might as well get it over with. "I'm… um… I'm bringing someone. I mean, I met someone."

Emma felt her breath catch, and for a moment she could feel a tightness in her throat. But then she pushed it down and it was gone again, somewhere deeper inside of herself where she could pretend that it didn't exist. It was getting easier. They had both agreed that being apart was better than being together only to feel apart whenever they were away from each other, only to come home and fight. Emma was lucky that her friend Mary Margaret was Henry's English teacher, as this offered her a reliable third party to receive updates about Henry that weren't through Neal. It had been three years now, since they had decided to end things, and for the most part they were able to get by on civil terms. But Emma had never been confronted with Neal actually telling her that he'd met someone. Sure, she had assumed that he was out there, meeting people… women, even… but the fact that he was telling her about this specific one… that he wanted to introduce her to her Henry…. That was something that Emma wasn't sure she was ready for.

"Oh…" Emma said, once she was able to speak.

"I'm sorry, Em. I know you probably don't like the idea of her meeting Henry, but I think that they'd really get along! Belle's a literary agent, and she's mentioned a few books that she likes that I've seen Henry reading… I think it would be really great!"

Emma frowned, listening to this. Belle… wasn't that…? Glancing at her watch again, she sighed. "Look Neal, I gotta go to a press conference. If you want to date your Dad's friends, be my guest."

Neal's eyes widened as the dial tone suddenly greeted him with a harsh, mind-numbing blare. Shaking his head, he snapped his cell phone shut. Where did _that_ come from? Emma must be staying up too late… Or maybe she had just gotten confused because Belle and his father's profession were in the same industry? Shrugging, he turned back to the kitchen counter and set his cell phone down. Then he went about packing Henry's lunch for the school day.

XXXX

"Are you sick?" Belle frowned, leaning forward to feel Mr. Gold's forehead. Mr. Gold winced… her close proximity wasn't helping. He had been trying every morning to ask Belle to attend the award night as his companion, and still he had yet to be successful.

Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Gold frowned, "Why do you ask that? I feel perfectly adequate."

Belle rolled her eyes, "You are truly an inspiration, Mr. Gold. I can't wait to be a famous author like you, with a readership in the millions, who can wake up in the morning feeling perfectly… _adequate_. Why are you sweating so much? Your face has been as red as a grapefruit every morning for almost a week, and your palms keep making squeaking noises on your china.

_I'm dreadful at this_, thought Mr. Gold. _I might as well give up the whole damned idea_.

"Stop fussing over me," Mr. Gold said, turning back to the paperwork spread out across the coffee table, "Now where were we?"

Belle's eyes widened, "You _want_ to do paperwork? Mr. Gold, something must be terminally wrong."

Mr. Gold shot her a look, but when he saw the impish smile she was giving him he couldn't help but smile back. "Alright, dearie. I'm nervous about tomorrow night…" _Not technically a lie. Just not the whole truth, either. Best to defer to a different reason…_ "I've been thinking a lot about what you've said, and I've decided…" _What had he decided, exactly? _"I believe it would be in Henry's best interests to attend the awards ceremony tomorrow night. For his education, I mean." _Don't make it about a date. Make t about spending time with the people closest to you. Yes, that can work!_ "And I was wondering, um, if you might like to have dinner with us first."

Belle listened to this tirade of stopping and starting and stuttering with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. The poor man… Had it really been this long since he had asked someone to help him watch his grandson? Of course he would be distracted at the awards night… Belle had assumed that she would be helping to escort any guests he wound up bringing!

"Oh, Mr. Gold!" She laughed, giving him a look that conveyed what a silly little man he was. Mr. Gold gulped, fearful. "Of course I'll help you to babysit Henry!"

If Mr. Gold could have painfully smacked his head down on the coffee table, multiple times, he would have done so right now. She thought he was asking her to be a babysitter!?

"Of course, I'll have to reschedule a few things with my date…"

Never mind, Mr. Gold thought. He ought to just break off one of the table legs and stab himself with it. This was just getting worse by the minute. He was too old to be putting himself through this every time that he saw her.

"…Oh, wait! I know! We can just all have dinner together! Choose a restaurant that you like, and I'll have Ashley make all the arrangements." Belle smiled brightly, and leaned in to give Mr. Gold's hand a gentle squeeze, "Don't worry, I won't let you feel alone tomorrow evening. You'll have us!"

If Mr. Gold had been red before, he was paler than the winter storm outside, now. "I… um… that sounds like a plan, Belle."

"Great!" Belle said, lifting her day planner and chewing on her ballpoint pen. "Thank goodness… this man that I've been seeing is so boring, you wouldn't believe. Have you ever been seeing someone that should be good for you, but there's just no chemistry at all?"

Mr. Gold gulped. The problem he was facing at the moment was very different… his seemed to be an issue of one-sided chemistry, and an overwhelming amount of it. He realized suddenly that he had zoned out again. He had been doing that more and more frequently around Belle, and it was actually becoming quite the problem. Blinking a few times to clear his head, and then shaking it for good measure, he said, "Pardon?"

Belle laughed and shook her head at him, like she was watching an old mutt try to figure out where the doggie door was in the middle of a brick wall. In other words, like he was the most pathetic thing on earth. Mr. Gold couldn't remember the last time he had felt so flustered. "Reservation for how many?"

Mr. Gold sighed, "Well, let me see… My son is supposed to be coming to the ceremony, so I suppose that I'll have Ashley call him and invite him as well… That makes him, Henry, you, your date, and myself."

"Reservations for five, then," Said Belle, "No problem!"

With that settled, Belle began to pack up her things. "Thanks so much, Mr. Gold! It'll be a great night!"

Mr. Gold sighed dejectedly. That train was so far off the rails that now he couldn't even see the smoke. Moving to stand by the door, Mr. Gold helped Belle with her coat. She smiled, a slight flush dusting her cheeks, "Thank you. So, what are you going to do tonight?"

Mr. Gold responded dutifully, "Finish the revisions on chapters fifteen through to twenty-one, and then refer back to previous outlining for the fourth installment of the series so that I can begin my rough draft when the final draft of this installment wraps-up."

Belle smiled, proud of how far both she and Mr. Gold had come in just a few short weeks. "Very good. I'll call you later to check in."

"You sure you don't want to install cameras so that you can watch me, too?" Mr. Gold said, but the fondness in his voice dulled any intentional sharpness that might had been in his words. Belle looked back over her shoulder and pinched up her face at him in mock disgust. Turning back, she went to open the door, but was immediately met with a sharp gust of cold air and flurrying snow. With a surprised yelp, Belle leapt back and closed the door again.

Mr. Gold looked past her to the gathering storm outside. "Where are you headed to?"

"Just home," Belle shrugged, "On the nice days I walk from here to the nearest subway stop, but it's a ten minute walk and in this weather… I think I'll just call a cab." She turned to look at him, and was surprised to see that Mr. Gold was already donning his thick wool coat. "What are you doing?"

"Driving you home," Mr. Gold said gruffly, in a tone that implied that he would not be persuaded otherwise.

"Oh, Mr. Gold, you don't have to – "

"I insist," said Mr. Gold, turning back to the door. "Which side of town are we driving to?"

The traffic was slow in Manhattan, as the snow blinded windshields and the slush drowned tires and stalled cars. Black ice was another problem entirely, and the emergency response teams were being overwhelmed with accidents. Mr. Gold drove slowly and carefully; Belle was relieved, remembering all too well what a reckless driver Gaston had been in bad weather.

The irony of this was that, unfortunately, Mr. Gold was not the only driver on the road. They were about twenty minutes from Belle's apartment complex when another car slid out of control, and slammed into the side of Mr. Gold's car. The car skidded to the side of the road, slamming into a hydro pole. Belle's eyes clenched shut, and it wasn't until her eyes opened that she realized that the sound ringing in her ears was her own scream. Turning her head quickly to the side, she was relieved to see that Mr. Gold was alright. The hydro pole had been hit by the back of the car, so that the back end had warped and slightly wrapped around the pole. The pole had missed both of the front seats so that neither Mr. Gold nor she were harmed; when Belle realized this, she heaved a sigh of relief.

"Bloody hell!" Mr. Gold growled, slamming his black gloved hand down on the steering wheel. "That bastard better have insurance!" Mr. Gold clasped the door handle, preparing to make his way over to the other car and give the driver a piece of his mind.

"Wait!" Belle exclaimed, and reached over to grab Mr. Gold's hand in her own, small mitten. "Let me talk to him… The roads are slippery, and it was probably unintentional. I'll get the insurance information from him while you use my cell phone to call a tow truck."

Mr. Gold hesitated, reluctant to relinquish control of the situation. Belle gave his hand a gentle squeeze and added, "I'm really glad that we're both alright, Adam. We want this guy to co-operate, not punch one of us into a snowbank."

At the sound of Belle saying his first name, Mr. Gold quieted. What had been suspicions of affection in the past flared inside of him, becoming a bright and burning flame that he had not felt in years. Had he been anywhere else with her, and had he had the self-assurance, he would have kissed her now. As it was, he simply, leaned back in the driver's seat – as far away from her as possible – and nodded. Belle reached into her purse and fished around until she had found her cell phone. Passing it to him, she made to get out of the door.

"Thank you," Mr. Gold said, making her pause.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, "Thank _you_, for listening."

While Belle spoke with the driver who had side-swiped Mr. Gold's vehicle, he dialed the tow truck operator he had used in the past, a man by the name of Michael Tillman, whose children went to school with Henry. After reporting the accident, he sat in the driver's seat and leaned back, staring straight forward out the windshield. He felt numb. It had been years since the car accident that had injured his leg, and still even the thought of driving was usually out of the question.

Why had he driven at all? He hated to drive in such bad weather, let alone in Manhattan at rush hour! But of course he knew the answer… He hadn't wanted it to end yet. He'd just… just wanted more time. About half an hour later, Mr. Tillman showed up with his tow truck. Surveying the damage, he frowned, "I can have it for you by tomorrow afternoon, but you should probably think about staying in town tonight… I doubt many taxis will want to venture out to your area with the roads this bad."

Belle had come to stand beside the two men, and she turned to Mr. Gold now. "You can stay at my place, if you want. I feel terrible… this wouldn't have happened if I'd just taken the –"

"Oh, shush, Belle!" Mr. Gold said helplessly gesturing with his hands.

Mr. Tillman looked back and forth between the two, before clearing his throat. "Will that be all? It's pretty cold out here… I should start hooking up the car."

Mr. Gold gestured dismissively to Mr. Tillman, "Yes, yes, that's all." Turning back to Belle, he added, "Should we call a cab?"


End file.
